Blood Shadow
by WarlordFil
Summary: The truce between Humans and Sangheili erases the rules that previously defined the interaction between a prisoner of war and his captor. Contains heterosexual human/Sangheili relationship between OCs and depictions of imprisonment/torture. In progress.
1. Chapter 1: Five Long Years

Summary: The truce between Humans and Sangheili erases the rules that previously defined the interaction between a prisoner of war and his captor.

**Author's note**: This story contains descriptions of torture and heterosexual romantic/sexual contact between an alien (Sangheili) and a human being. Squicked? Then please don't read it.

The graphic nature of the descriptions is similar to that which you would find in a Silhouette Nocturne novel, which are sold on the public shelves at Wal-Mart. I therefore believe this level is appropriate for fanfiction net's M rating. I believe that anything more explicit than that qualifies as erotica and/or extreme violent content– the sort of item that you need ID to purchase – and is not appropriate for fanfiction net.

Out of respect for the ratings system on fanfiction net, only the first four chapters of this story will be posted here. At this point the story reaches a satisfactory conclusion without breaching what is acceptable for the "M" rating. I have not yet decided whether I will continue it on adulfanfiction net with more explicit content; those of you who are both legally able and personally inclined to view such a story may check there.

This story does not require the reader to have read any of my previous work, but there is an appearance from a character who first appeared in "Taking the Steel," and mild spoilers for "Cross Blades" and its sequels, "Mercenary Hearts" and the "Duels of Honour" miniseries.

This story is something I've been playing with in my spare time, and should be considered a "bonus" to my usual update schedule. It will update sporadically (ie, when I get around to completing the chapters).

**Blood Shadow**

**Chapter the First: Five Long Years**

"Conrad?"

He lay still, not wanting his captors to know that he was awake to hear them.

"Conrad? Are you awake?" The aliens' bizarre mouths mangled his name, but he had become accustomed to their accents over time, enough to understand what they were saying to him.

His eyes were closed, but his other senses were on full alert as he lay on the filthy cot that was his bed. He could hear their footsteps as they approached; there had to be five or six of them. He guessed he was in for another round of torture. They were becoming sadly predictable.

This existence had been his hell for a long time now. He wasn't sure how long. With no windows in the parts of the complex where he had been, and no timepieces that he could read, there was no way for him to tell the passage of days. He suspected that his prison was underground, though he could be mistaken. He might be inside a tall building, beneath the surface of a sea, or on a spaceship for all he knew. He wished, just once, that he could see outside. He had not seen the sky since his final misison.

His last mission had been to blow up a vital power grid. The area was going to fall to the enemy anyway, but if they were to hold the neighbouring territory they had to deny the enemy as much as possible. The area was already in enemy hands before his commandos entered the plant to blow up the grid.

They'd succeeded, but at a cost. He had been caught in an explosion and knocked unconscious; the last thing he remembered was staring up into a painfully blue sky, before he woke up here, in the aliens' prison.

He wondered if any of his teammates had survived. He hoped they had. He was sure they had left him for dead. Just as well—he wouldn't want to think that any of them had been killed or maimed in a futile attempt to save him.

The fucking aliens had thrown a sticky grenade at him. He had thrown up his hands to protect his face. He remembered that part clearly. He had a stump instead of a hand at the end of his right arm to remember it by.

They'd done so much more since.

He needed no words to describe the monsters' torments; his body was a silent litany of scars.

They had biopsied him countless times, making incisions to sample his tissues at their will. Sometimes, when they needed him very still, they sedated him. More often, they simply tied him down and made their cuts.

Other times there seemed to be little purpose to the injuries they inflicted. He wasn't sure if they were getting some kind of biological readings about his reaction to pain, his nervous system, his tolerance levels, his ability to heal…or if they were simply tormenting him for their own pleasure.

Everyone cracks under torture. He'd been told this when he first joined the special forces. He'd been taught ways to stand up against torture, knowing that the most he could hope for was to resist long enough for the information he knew to be useless, to be secure in the knowledge that he'd made them fight him for every single scrap they gleaned for him. He used all those methods and more, including those he'd discovered himself as a child, and he knew he had frustrated the aliens with his endurance and determination…but of course, in the end, he'd inevitably reached breaking point.

He was almost certain it had been the thing with his teeth that had put him over the edge.

He'd actually been fine when they were ripping his teeth out one at a time, if one accepted that "fine" could also encompass "terrified, horrified, infuriated, wild with pain, and choking on his own blood." It was afterward, when he was trying and failing to eat, choking on lumps of meat that he couldn't bite, realizing he'd be eating mush for the rest of his life, without even two hands to tear the lumps apart…that was the point his fighting spirit had faltered. The next day, when they moved on to ripping out his nails, that was the day he would have told them anything just to make them stop.

But they hadn't asked.

They hadn't asked about his unit, or his mission, or his ship. They hadn't asked about his homeworld, his culture, his faith. They didn't care about his childhood or his motivations or his goals. He'd almost broken on the day when he realized they didn't want him for information.

They just wanted a living captive.

A warm body to provide their samples and serve as a subject for their tests.

They had exposed him to substances, pumped fluids into his veins with needles, forced pills down his throat. Sometimes these experiences had no effect beyond the initial exposure. Sometimes they made him sick. Several times they made him very, very sick, though there was something to be said for fever-induced delerium that dulled the pain of the torture. More than once he'd endured their tiresome struggles to bring him back, because they clearly didn't want to kill him. If they killed him, how would they test their concoctions?

In the back of his mind he knew he should want to die.

He should die, and deny them their lab specimen. It would be the honourable thing to do.

But he had fought too hard to live just to lie down and die now.

Particularly once he realized what they were doing. It had taken much time for him to gather information and string it together in his mind, to learn the technical words in their language, to understand the full scope of their plans.

They were breeding a virus—a genetic virus designed to attack his species. And he was the only one who knew.

He could not leave his world unwarned, and so he had to survive, no matter what, despite the odds. He had to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to arise.

"Do they all sleep as much as this one?" He knew that voice—one of the guards, a younger one. A recent arrival who limped from an injury sustained in combat.

His reply was an evil laugh from another guard whom he knew well indeed. This one derived far too much pleasure from the acts of torturing. The hated voice replied, "We give this one regular workouts."

"It's over," came another voice. It was the warden, the one called Jan 'Cenahdee.

'Cenahdee was a female. He marked her because he saw very few females here in the prison rooms. One of the medics was a female, and one of the equipment technicians was female as well, but 'Cenahdee was the highest-ranking female alien he'd ever encountered.

The aliens' females were disgustingly similar to the males. It had taken him so long to even learn to tell the difference.

Conrad tried to tell himself that he felt no attraction to the hideous females. He had no doubt that, were he at home with even average-looking women within his reach, he would never have even thought to consider the alien females in a sexual way. But after who-knew-how-long in prison, the simple knowledge that another being was female was enough to get his mind travelling in an inappropriate direction.

He wondered if he'd be thinking this way about males had he not seen any females at all.

He was so busy trying not to think of 'Cenahdee as a female that he almost missed the import of her words.

_It's over._

Were they going to execute him at last?

He might have precious little time left to act. Recently there had been less experimentation and more torture. Perhaps they had the virus perfected. Perhaps all they needed to do now was test it on him….

"I don't see why you won't let us do it," the monstrous guard muttered sullenly.

'Cenahdee knelt down beside him and put her hand on his cheek. He could not help himself from quivering at her touch. He was not sure if his reaction was attraction or revulsion. Not knowing disturbed him.

There was a part of him that hated 'Cenahdee for more than simply her species and her complicity in what the hated aliens had done to him. 'Cenahdee's touch was gentle, almost soothing, as it always was. At first he had wondered if she were mocking him. Over time he had come to believe that her tenderness, her apparent regret, were genuine, and that belief had taught him to hate her even more.

She was a warrior. She should have no mercy for him. He would have none for her, if he ever escaped his shackles. She was soft, and in a warrior the quality was disgusting. She was not like the female medic, 'Maknzee, much at all. 'Maknzee was cold, clinical, a consummate professional. Conrad could appreciate these qualities in an enemy, even when they were being used against him. Perhaps someday he could use 'Cenahdee's weakness against her.

He had to. Because he felt his spirits lift when he saw her. Because she was one of the only pleasures he had left. Because she would someday use this weakness against him, if he did not strike against her first.

"Conrad?"

He cracked open one eye.

She was looking at him. She knew he was awake. She had known all along.

'Cenahdee had a needle in her hand, poised just a hair's breadth above the artery in his throat. She had been ready. The second their eyes met, she rammed the needle into his artery and slammed the plunger home.

*

"Conrad?"

'Cenahdee again.

He felt himself surfacing after an unknown period of unconsciousness. Apparently the contents of that needle had not killed him. He felt no different, save for the grogginess; he could only pray he would not find himself deathly ill in another day, or hour, or minute.

Would the fucking aliens never leave him alone?

He breathed in and realized with a sudden jolt of understanding that the chemical scent of the prison was gone. He had been breathing in the smell for so long that he rarely noticed it any longer; now, though, its very absence was a miraculous thing. He sucked fresh air into his lungs, and with it, smelled dust and fuel.

He was lying somewhere new, too—somewhere hard and cold, with metal against his back. As the grogginess faded, he realized he was also lying on metal, metal made warm by the heat of his body. He also felt aches down the length of his body. They were probably mild bruises, and if that was the worst he got, he would count himself lucky. His remaining hand was secured to one of the vehicle's bulkheads by a chain.

'Cenahdee touched his cheek again. "Conrad, I know you're awake." She used her sharp fingernails to carefully open the lid on his eye.

He could not stop his eye from focusing on her face. This portion of the game was over; there was no longer any use in feigning unconsciousness.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked mockingly. He spoke rarely, but when he did he noticed that the timbre of his voice had changed. He wondered if he'd ruined his voicebox permanently from all the screaming.

"I'm letting you go," 'Cenahdee said softly.

Ah. A new torture.

He sat up with some effort. 'Cenahdee put her strange hands on his arm and helped haul him up until he leaned with his back against the metal. He was sitting inside some kind of vehicle, possibly a cargo transport. Its hatch was open, and through the hatch he could see bright light and greenery. Ground, not sky. It was still impossibly beautiful.

"Where?" he managed to whisper from his toothless mouth.

"Home."

Conrad effortlessly hid his triumphant smile. Expressions had become things he felt, rather than things he showed to others. His emotions could run the gamut from elation to rage to sorrow without a hint ever showing on his face. He had learned this skill long before the aliens had taken him prisoner. Now, he simply blinked at his captor, never letting her guess that he was thrilled by his new edge. He did not want to go home. The alien thought she was hurting him, and he would play along as long as it suited him, even if his only victory was the private knowledge that he had denied her from achieving her intended ends.

"How do I call your people?"

She was persistent. His mouth was dry. "Why would you do such a thing for me?"

'Cenahdee took his hand, as though he were one of her own kind. Her touch was revoltingly moist. "Our war is over."

He could only blink stupidly.

"Your people and mine have signed a truce. An alliance."

"This is ridiculous." He was disgusted by the ludicrousness of this move in the ongoing game. He expected so much better from the aliens by now. "Tell your psychologists that their newest game is utterly unbelievable."

She seemed angry. "I can show you the transmissions if you want me to."

Conrad had nothing better to do but play along and see where the game went. "Why such a hurry? Do you no longer want me for your guest?"

'Cenahdee's eyes darted. "You'll die if you stay."

"I thought there was a truce."

"Yes, and all the loose ends—like yourself—will be swept under the rug, as though you never existed." She folded her arms. "That injection I gave you was supposed to kill you. I was ordered to take your corpse into the forests and burn it." 'Cenahdee glared at him and her words were heated, angry. "I could still do that, if you really want me to. I've got the original injection in my pocket. Is that what you want, Conrad? Your people—your family—thinking you died from that grenade five years ago?"

His breath caught. "Is that how long? Five years?"

He saw the dismay in her eyes. In all this time he'd learned to read the aliens' facial expressions. She hadn't meant to tell him that information. That had not been a smoothly delivered lie—he was sure of it. He felt another private smile.

'Cenahdee looked away. "Yes."

He tried to understand what that fact might mean. The soldiers in his old unit—those who had survived the war—would be five years older. Some of them would have children now, or more children. Some of them would have married. Some of them might even have saluted in front of a memorial plaque bearing his name…

He was a ghost now, five years out of history.

"What about the virus?"

She stared at him.

He met her gaze, fearless. "The virus. Wasn't that what you were after? A biological weapon? How can I leave when you still have the virus?"

Jan shook her head. "We don't have the virus. It didn't work. None of the things we tried worked."

He folded his arms. "Five years of hell and you failed."

"You should be happy we failed." She turned away, muttering something to the effect of "arrogant bastard."

"So all I went through was for nothing. Nothing for you, nothing for me."

"I can't replace those years or make up for what we did to you," 'Cenahdee said. "All I can do is give you back the rest of your life." She swallowed; he could practically smell her guilt. "The war is finished. When a war ends, prisoners are supposed to be set free." She leaned closer. "Conrad, tell me how to send you home."

"You want to free me so I do not die." He snorted. "You know nothing. If you send me home I will die just as surely and far more painfully than if you injected me now. You are a fool, 'Cenahdee."

"Get this straight, Conrad," the warden hissed, angered by his words. "I know you say that just to annoy me. My name is _Kennedy_. Janice Lisabet Kennedy."

He looked her in the eye, unimpressed.

"If you insist, Ken-na-dee, then you must also be clear on my name, which is _'Corad_. Arde 'Coradee."


	2. Chapter 2: Heavy Price Paid

**Blood Shadow**

**Chapter the Second: Heavy Price Paid**

Jan Kennedy stared the captive Elite in the eye and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now.

She'd been told to deliver a lethal injection to the prisoner, take the body into the woods, and burn it. Everyone knew ONI were a bunch of bastards, and this was just one more example: now that Humans and Elites were allies, ONI didn't want their new alien buddies to realize that humanity had been experimenting on an Elite for five years in a failed attempt to develop a biological weapon against them. Privately, Jan was surprised ONI didn't just keep working on that weapon as a form of insurance. Doubtlessly they had other nasty surprises planned in case the alliance ever fell apart.

At any rate, the alien called 'Coradee had become a liability.

Jan had done some nasty things in her forty-five years in this universe. When she was young, and the death of her parents at the hands of the Insurrectionists was still fresh in her mind, she had rage and grief as a justification. When she was middle-aged, and she watched planet after planet—as well as two husbands, three boyfriends and her cousins—fall to the Covenant, she supplanted rage and grief with desperation. She had come to rely on the fight as a reason to keep living.

Now her war was over, and with it came a reckoning of just what she had done.

Yes, she had helped to save Humanity, but at a cost of much of her soul.

She had perhaps another forty-five years to try to set things right.

The Elite ambassadors to Earth—Usze 'Taham and N'tho 'Sraom—had explained to Humanity that the beings which the Humans called Elites had been led astray by their leaders, the Prophets, and ultimately betrayed by them. This knowledge, coupled with the Elites' invaluable assistance during the Battle of the Omega Halo, had done much to further the Human-Elite alliance. Though many Humans found it impossible to fully forgive the Elites, a majority were willing to try to focus on a better future. There was much rebuilding to do.

Jan Kennedy had hoped to begin her atonement by freeing the Elite which they had called Conrad.

Now he was telling her that he did not want to be free?

"What do you mean?" she asked him.

The Elite looked up at her with an expression that she could only describe as sardonic amusement. "Look at me," he said. "I am crippled, dishonoured, and shamed. There are scars all over me where you held me defenseless and caused me to bleed without honour. I am missing a hand. I am missing my claws. I am missing all my teeth. My own people will look at me with disgust."

Jan swallowed. She kept forgetting just how alien the Elites were. Humans welcomed back injured veterans as heroes; apparently Elites shunned them. It did nothing to endear her to the species.

Conrad—Arde 'Coradee—folded his arms as best he could with one still cuffed to the side of the truck. "You send me home to my death."

"Your people kill their injured."

His mandibles curved in what might have been a smirk. "Usually, my people put injured warriors to work as breeders—chained in the keeps to provide the ranking females with fertilized eggs. I would rather die than bow to a female, so perhaps it is fortunate that I am not suited to such a use."

"Because?" Jan asked with morbid fascination.

He looked down, away, and his words were soft. "What you…your kind…has done to me…I cannot make young any longer."

She wondered if he was feigning the sorrow in his eyes. She made a note to get a look in the files, to see exactly what they'd done to him. If they'd given him some kind of degenerative disease, it might be kinder for her to kill him.

She also wondered if the damage he spoke of was an official order or just something one of her staff had come up with on his own.

Why the hell should she feel so guilty? The Covenant had killed her family, burned their worlds, committed a campaign of genocide…. She hated them, every one of them!

But it was easy to hate an abstract monster, and much harder to hate a helpless creature that sat in front of her, suffering.

"So," he said, and his sardonic tone was back as though it had never faltered. "So, I have shamed my name by allowing you to capture me and torment me. I am an embarrassment to all Sangheili, and I have no more use to my people, so I must die. If I am lucky, they will permit me to kill myself. If I am unlucky, they will torture me before they kill me. Perhaps the kindest thing you could do for me, Jan Ken-na-dee, would be to provide me with a weapon so I might kill myself."

"I don't think so," Jan retorted. "I don't trust you not to try to take me—or someone else—with you."

He smiled. "You are perceptive, Ken-na-dee."

By his very words he had admitted that she was right to hate him, and yet…

…and yet…

"So. Kill me," he said, with a coolness she could not even imagine.

"What am I going to do with you?" she groaned, having failed to think of the possibility that he might not want to go home. She had imagined what she would want in his position, and had utterly failed to grasp the fact that an alien might want something very different from a human being. "I can't take you back to the USNC and you don't want to go back to your own people. And I did not…did _not_…break the law to save you only to fail now!" She glared at him, angry for a reason she did not entirely comprehend. "I will find you a safe haven on this planet, then, and I will make sure you are comfortable. Will you accept _that_, you stubborn, ungrateful son of a bitch?"

He snorted, bitterly, but she prayed she hadn't imagined the shine of hope in his eyes.

"I doubt you will find a place on this world that will welcome the likes of me."

Jan swallowed dryly. She could think of a place.

And if she made the offer, she'd never be rid of Arde 'Coradee.

But she knew of nowhere else where she could keep an alien in comfortable conditions that guaranteed privacy.

"I've accepted a retirement package. Starting next month," she said, both to give him some background and to stall for some time to think.

The war was over. Yes, humanity would have a lot of work to do, repairing the damage caused by the Covenant during the long years of the war. There were a few planets that had not been entirely glassed; these were capable of being renewed and repopulated, if humanity was up to the task. The military would be turning its efforts towards reconstruction. There were still a few Insurrectionists out there, but the climate was not ripe for rebellion and their supporters were few; most humans recognized a need for unity at this time. So, though soldiers were and would continue to be needed, the military did not need as many personnel as it had required during the war.

Jan, being older, had been given an option to retire. She had taken it.

Jan was still trying to think about what to do with her impending retirement. She had considered joining the commissionaires, or perhaps expanding her background in communications to help with the reconstruction efforts.

But the fact remained, her retirement pay coupled with her inheritances would be enough to live on if she lived simply and modestly. As the last surviving member of her family—and her second husband's family, and her third husband's family—she was independently wealthy.

Perhaps she should use that wealth to issue an apology to someone her people had wronged.

All these years she had believed that humanity had done nothing, would never do anything, to warrant the vicious and unprovoked attacks of the Covenant. Now, though, she had the irrational idea that the Covenant leaders had looked into the soul of humanity and found it lacking. It was hard to discount this thought when the evidence of such lack was written all over Arde 'Coradee's body.

The Elite was still watching her.

"I have a cabin not too far away. Up in the mountains." It had been left to her by her second husband, and she'd been staying there on her days off despite the long commute, because it offered her more privacy than a room on the base. "You could live there."

"With you?"

She wasn't sure if he would consider a positive response to be good or bad. She felt as though she ought to be keeping an eye on him, in case he needed any help due to his disabilities—and to make sure he wasn't attacking human beings or doing anything else to harm the inhabitants of Earth.

Of course, she couldn't just quit her job right away to watch him. And she couldn't guard him 24/7, not when she was the only other person there. She'd have to sleep sometime, have to go to town for food, and during those times she would have to trust him…

Did she need to live with him?

Jan sighed. Practically, she might be able to afford a comfortable early retirement to the cabin, but she wouldn't be able to afford to keep two houses as well as keeping herself and 'Coradee comfortable for the rest of their natural lives.

He was still watching her and she realized that brutal honesty might be her best approach.

"I can't afford two homes, Conr…'Coradee. You can live with me and behave yourself, or I can call Usze 'Taham and give you a one way ticket to Sanghelios and you can take your chances when you get there. Your call."

'Coradee tilted his head, blinking his large eyes. "You are offering me asylum in youe keep—in your very home?"

Good God, she hadn't thought this through. Her mind raced as she tried to imagine, and head off, all the possible problems with this insane plan. "Not if you threaten harm to any of our people. Or break our laws. Or otherwise cause trouble. Nobody can know you're up there…"

His clawless left hand stroked his toothless mouth thoughtfully. "You are demanding I give up any vengeance."

"Yes."

"Vengeance that is rightfully mine."

"What do you want from me?" Jan exploded, sick with guilt and fear and anger. "I can't put ONI on trial. I'm not even sure what they did to you was a crime. Our laws about prisoners of war don't apply to non-humans and even if they did, I don't think…"

'Coradee sniffed the air. "Your laws would not call it a crime. But you do."

Her eyes widened. "How can you…"

"I can smell your guilt."

_Oh, God. _Five years watching him, and she'd had no idea he could read her emotions from her scent.

She stared at him in horror.

He sat for a moment, closing his eyes, and then he said one single word.

"Agreed."

Jan gawked at him, because the longer he'd been silent, the more sure she'd been that he would say no. And she had been relieved. She had been grateful that no, she wouldn't have to share her life with one of the aliens she hated, no, she wouldn't have to sacrifice her money and her privacy and her time to keep him, no, she wouldn't be reminded every day of the brutality that she had helped her kind inflict on him.

And then he had said yes.

Jan stood rooted to the spot, feeling as though she'd been called before the Lord Almighty to account for her sins. And a simple "I'm sorry" had not absolved them, nor had a single act of charity. Jan Kennedy had been sentenced to spend the rest of her life in sacrifice to attone for what she'd done to a Sangheili named Arde 'Coradee.

Jan felt sick all over again.

She tried to tell herself that just because she didn't want to live with the alien didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. She doubted 'Coradee had wanted to be sitting here with her, minus several body parts. She had a job to do, and she would do it.

So she unlocked the chain that fastened Arde to the wall of the truck, and opened the cab door for him. He squeezed himself uncomfortably into the passenger seat, struggling to find a position that was comfortable for his strange knees.

As Jan headed the truck towards her cabin, she began explaining to the Elite everything he needed to know to keep himself warm and comfortable and entertained while she was finishing up her contract.

Good God, how would she entertain him? She told him about movies and books and the Internet, though she passed on video games—the popular computer games usually required two hands on the controllers. She promised to show him how the devices worked, and once he found something he liked, she would help him get more to keep himself busy. Somehow, though, Jan doubted that turning the Sangheili into a TV junkie was going to give the alien a sense of satisfaction with what had become of his life.

She tried to tell herself that for now, it would be good enough to simply keep him comfortable. Making him happy could take a little longer.

Still, Jan Kennedy couldn't help but feel that she'd just been condemned to a life-long punishment in the company of Arde 'Coradee. She tried to tell herself that she did not believe in threefold karma or a vengeful, punishing God. And yet, living with 'Coradee seemed a fitting sentence considering what she had done.

Of course, if that were true…if ill deeds were really paid back three times over…

She shot a brief glance at Arde 'Coradee's devastated profile and wondered what unspeakable sins the Sangheili must have committed to deserve what had happened to him.


	3. Chapter 3: Cloistered Expectancy

**Blood Shadow**

**Chapter the Third: Cloistered Expectancy**

Jan Kennedy accepted the cup of coffee that Arde 'Coradee held out to her and wondered when having an Elite in her home had become situation normal.

Arde 'Coradee was a surprisingly pleasant houseguest. He had adapted quickly to life in the cabin, and though she had been wary of leaving him there alone, her fears had turned out to be unfounded. The Sangheili had not run away, nor had he gone on a murderous rampage against the people in the little village several miles away, nor had he trashed the place. He appeared to like the wilds of the forest, but he seemed to have no interest in human civilization beyond the cabin he now called home.

He had asked her to teach him how to use household tools: how to run a dishwasher, how to use a broom, how to cook food. He had a few challenges thanks to having only one hand, but for the most part he adapted admirably quickly. She kept expecting him to balk at the menial nature of some of the tasks—she knew that Elites kept Grunts to do their dirty work—but Arde made no complaint.

So when Jan's work contract had finally ended and she had come to the cabin to begin her retirement, she had found a clean house, a fire in the fireplace, a dinner cooking on the stove…and a headless deer hanging from the tree in her front yard.

At her request, Arde kept his hunting trophies in the back yard from then on, and they still had a freezer half-full of venison.

The deer incident had given Jan a reminder of how dangerous the Sangheili could be. It was possible Arde had taken one of her guns out of her safe and replaced it, but she could not find any missing bullets, and she privately doubted that the Elite had cracked the combination to the safe. Jan had also not found any bullets in the deer's carcass. Her guess was that 'Coradee had killed the animal bare-handed, and that was perhaps scarier than the idea of the Elite with a weapon. 'Coradee could kill her just as easily, perhaps while she slept.

But he offered her no threat and there was no sign that he set foot in her bedroom, either. He skirted the door with careful reverance, as if he'd been told that the President was sound asleep inside. Jan was convinced the behaviour was some sort of Elite thing that was second nature to 'Coradee even though it was a mystery to her.

'Coradee had declined to sleep in the guest bedroom, preferring to lay in front of the fire with a series of sheepskin rugs below him and an old unzipped sleeping bag on top of him. She wondered if he wanted to stretch himself while he was sleeping—which would be difficult given his massive size and the tall wooden headboard and footboard on either end of the guest bed—or if he had some primal need to guard the fire. Regardless, once she became used to the sight of the large, plaid-sleeping-bag-covered lump in the middle of her living room floor, it really didn't matter to her where the Elite slept.

Arde had sampled television and the Internet, and sometimes he and Jan watched movies together, but in the end, the Elite seemed to prefer books. He particularly liked military stories, though Jan felt somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of the Elite reading information about modern human weaponry. Instead, she provided him with historical information about Human combat, starting with the ancient Greeks and Romans, ending around the time of the Vietnam war. 'Coradee had never questioned the missing two hundred years of more recent Human history. She also conceded to give him some science-fiction stories with military themes, and some modern thrillers that were so contrived that there was no way they could be considered realistic. He and Jan spent long nights in front of the fire talking about aspects of Human culture that he had read about in books and wished to understand.

He had also told Jan some stories about Sanghelios—about the people, the culture, what they did for fun, and their celebrated history. Jan noticed that, though she'd heard countless Sangheili legends and endless accounts of historical battles, 'Coradee never once mentioned anything about himself. Where he'd come from, who he grieved for, what he had wanted to become.

She did not pry. She imagined it hurt him to think about it, and if he wished her to know, he would tell her.

Before she knew it, six months had passed by. At the end of that time, she'd come to consider Arde 'Coradee as a variant of the family black sheep. It was as though she were providing room and board to a crackpot uncle who, despite his questionable past and chronic unemployment, was easy to live with—he was quiet, clean, well-mannered and could be very entertaining company. The Elite had a sly sense of humour and a deep laugh…

…it almost hid the hollowness in his eyes.

Almost, but not quite. There were times when Jan saw him sitting in silence, staring into the fire, and she wondered what he hid behind the carefully neutral expression on his face. Was he mourning his separation from his family on Sanghelios? Dreaming bloody fantasies of vengeance on those who'd tortured him? Lost and adrift, here on an alien world, with no purpose and no future beyond the life he currently led?

She did not ask, and he did not say. She had no inkling of what might lay underneath his "eccentric-old-relative" persona until the evening of her date with Frederick Morrison.

*

Frederick Morrison was her uncle's friend and co-worker, a manager with a banking company. Having recently divorced his wife, he'd come to the area to stay in one of the local ski chalets while he re-evaluated his life. Uncle Bob was absolutely convinced that single women were miserable women and now that the war was over—now that Jan didn't have to worry about becoming a war widow for the third time—it was time for Jan to date again.

Jan wasn't entirely excited by the prospect, but she had to admit that she'd been spending a lot of her time in the cabin with Arde 'Coradee and it would probably be good for her to have some human contact. There was also the fact that she'd gone a very long time without a sexual relationship, and though she wasn't the type to have sex on the first date, if Frederick Morrison was at all interesting in that regard, she'd be a fool to turn him down. She was well past the age when she was able to trot down the sidewalk in a mini-skirt and turn the mens' heads.

However, Jan thought as she looked at herself in the mirror, she still wasn't too bad for forty-five. The black silk dress was cut close enough to be flattering, loose enough to be forgiving. Her work with the military had kept her slim, even if it was a hard, athletic leanness as opposed to supermodel-chic. She'd been in the bathroom for hours, chasing out the grey in her hair with dye, carefully applying makeup, wondering whether to hide the scar on her arm—the souvenir of a plasma burn from an encounter with a Jackal—under gloves or to simply leave it bare. In the end she'd decided that a man who'd dump her for a battle scar was a man not worth having. She slipped on a pair of stiletto heels and, as ready as she'd ever be, headed for the front door and the long drive into town.

But the way to the door was through the living room, and in front of Arde 'Coradee.

The Elite was sitting on her couch reading, but as she passed by, he lowered his book and said, "What is the meaning of that truly ridiculous outfit?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Conrad." She still called him Conrad when she wanted to tease him. "A simple _you look nice _would have sufficed."

"But you do not look nice. You look foolish." He seemed to be teasing too, or perhaps he was simply confused. "Those shoes, for example, seem very uncomfortable and highly impractical."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not going out with you."

"Going out with me where?"

Jan picked up her purse. "It's an expression. It means, going out on a date with."

Arde's book fell to the floor.

Kennedy looked at her watch. "I'm going to be late, Arde. It's going to be a few hours before I get home. Have a nice night," she said quickly as she dashed out the door, never thinking to look back over her shoulder at the person she was leaving behind.

*

Jan returned to the cabin a lot sooner than she'd expected to. Muttering to herself, she opened the front door.

Arde 'Coradee was restlessly pacing the living room, making noises that sounded like growls and snarls, waving his arms about and thrashing his mandibles.

The sound of the front door closing stopped Arde rigid in his tracks. His head snapped around with lethal speed; he seemed to hunch over and bulk up as he flared his mandibles…

…then he sniffed the air, and his body was relaxing even as his eyes were focusing on her.

She realized, with a degree of pride, that he had mistaken her for a possible intruder and had been preparing to defend himself and his home. He was moving towards her now, but he was smiling, and she did not feel threatened by him—though for some reason he kept scenting the air. She could hear him inhaling loudly as he approached.

"Jan! You were not gone very long at all." The Sangheili beamed.

"Tell me about it," Jan she kicked off the fabulous but uncomfortable stilettos.

The date had been a disaster. Her uncle's friend might have been a great manager, but she found him boring and self-centered. Morrison spent most of dinner bragging about his accomplishments in mind-numbing detail. Eager to get out of there, she told him she was skipping dessert. He had replied that he, too, would much rather have "dessert" at his place, at which point she'd called him a pig and walked out.

"Was everything okay while I was gone?" she asked as she turned around to hang her purse on a hook on the wall.

She didn't know how close the Elite was getting until she suddenly felt Arde's hand gently stroking her stomach in a gesture that was shocking in its intimacy.

"How long until your young are hatched?" he rumbled into her ear.

Jan pulled away from him, stunned by both his words and his behaviour. "I'm not pregnant!"

"I thought…" Arde tilted his head. "Your "date" was not for breeding?"

"No! God!" She reminded herself that he was an alien, and his assumptions were not those of a human being, but…God! "I'm forty-five years old!"

"That is too old to have offspring?"

Jan sighed. "I suppose not necessarily…but no, I'm not trying to have a baby, Arde."

The Elite tilted his head curiously. "But you have no children in this keep." His eyes glanced over her wall. "And no photographs of children elsewhere."

"I don't have time to raise kids, and even if I did…" Jan closed her eyes, not wanting to go into this, not wanting to have to think about the reason her first husband had left her. Why had the asshole survived the war when her good husbands had both been killed? "I can't have babies, Arde. Not even if I wanted to."

The Elite nodded in silent understanding. He reached out his hand and clutched her forearm in what she thought might be a Sangheili gesture of comfort. She remembered his words in the truck—it seemed like so long ago—when he had told her that he was useless as a breeder. Yes. He did know how she felt.

He nudged her cheek with his muzzle. "Then I hope the sex was satisfying?"

Jan almost dropped her coffee mug.

"Arde!" she exclaimed.

The Elite peered at her curiously. "I fear I may have misunderstood completely. Is a "date" not an appointment for sex?"

"No!"

He tilted his head. "Then why does it require one male and one female?"

Jan folded her arms. "It's supposed to be about getting to know someone well enough to decide whether or not you want to have a relationship with them." She was shocked at how prim and prudish that sounded, but the idea of having to explain sexual concepts to the alien was an uncomfortable thought.

Arde shrugged. "This all seems needlessly complicated."

"Let me guess. You just go up to someone who looks appealing and ask if they want to have sex with you."

"Yes." He folded his arms. "Unless they are underage, or married, or bonded, and as a general rule other males do not suit my tastes. I cannot distinguish your "date" from an evening out with a friend."

"Well, Humans usually want to like the person they have sex with. So, they get to know them first, and sex comes later."

"When?"

"When both people decide they want to."

The Elite dropped his muzzle and sniffed at her chest. "Was it your date who did not want to?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," she snapped, folding her arms over her breasts at his intrusive smelling, but her curiousity outweighed her irritation. "How would you even know what we did and didn't do?"

"I do not smell him on you."

Jan kept forgetting just how different his senses were from hers. How sensitive was that nose of his?

"No," she said quietly, "it was me who didn't want to."

"How come?"

Jan rolled her eyes. "Because I don't fuck on the first date, and because the guy was a pig."

"He did not please you."

"Yes, Arde, he did not please me. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to get ready for bed."

She stepped away from the Elite, walked to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

*

Arde 'Coradee tugged his blankets into position and tried to make sense of his thoughts.

He had been convinced that a "date" was like a session in the breeding chambers. Part of him had been looking forward to being an uncle to Jan's young. They would be a fine little family here in the keep: himself and Jan and a child. It was a dangerous fiction, but he permitted himself to indulge it anyway, because it glossed over the darker emotion that tightened his throat whenever he thought of Jan breeding.

The revelation that Jan could not bear children evoked twin emotions. One was kinship, for he well understood the pain that came with the knowledge that you could not continue your own bloodline. The other spawned from that hidden emotion and it was rage. Rage at the Human male who trespassed on his little keep and took Jan away from him…

The knowledge that the Human had failed to please her filled him with a dark exultation. His victory was shadowed by the knowledge that there would be other humans in the future. Jan clearly sought this "romantic relationship" and she would "date" until she found it.

Would Jan become the consort of another human and go to live in his keep, leaving Arde here alone?

Arde found himself wishing for the first time that he was back on Sanghelios. There, it would not matter if he challenged Jan's dates to duels. There it would not matter if he tore their heads from their bodies, or spilled their entrails into the dust…

There, it would not matter if the Blood Shadow ended their lives when they slept.

Here, though, he was far too aware that Jan would be most displeased with him if he were to kill any Humans. She had made herself clear: if she caught him killing, he would have to leave.

His mandibles folded into a smirk. He had been a SpecOps commander before, a living nightmare before that. He would not be caught.

But he would be a deceiver, and though he thought he had no honour, he had conscience enough to be disturbed by the notion of deceiving Jan.

So he curled himself into a ball and vowed to take one day at a time. Right now he would breathe deeply and close his eyes and…

Jan's bedroom door opened. Arde's head raised at the sound.

Then his eyes widened when he saw what she had on.

By the Ancestors…

Her date had not pleased her. Apparently she had decided that there was someone in this very keep who could.

Arde trembled.

He should not be thinking such thoughts about a Human. He should not find her so attractive in the breeding gown that fell to her mid-thighs. He should not be trembling with eagerness like a cadet on graduation day, thirsty to experience mating for the first time.

But he had been imprisoned and tortured and threatened with death and he had not seen a female of his own species in over five years.

Now, Jan, the female who shared a home with him…she had prepared herself to mate with him.

No matter what the Humans had done to him…

He would not disappoint her.


End file.
